dead end countdown
by xfucktheglasses
Summary: Izumo, Renzou and the fall to insanity. —Renzou/Izumo
1. Chapter 1

Though I realize that AU is rare in small fandoms, I must admit I was inspired by a fanart. So, whatevs.

**dead end countdown**

She finds him on the nineteenth night of the world's end.

He's repeatedly stabbing his staff into the chest of one of the Unholy. Red violet stains him and it almost looks unearthly; majestic, only not because he is Shima Renzou and he's nothing like majestic. He is lazy and only does things at the last minute. If he is killing an Unholy, she presumes, it is only because it got too close for comfort.

She tilts her chin up, walking towards him as she looks down her nose at him, violet lashes painting the world almost red.

Renzou's breathing hard, his golden staff dripping thick, gooey blood like acid rain. He swings it with a thick grunt and she pauses as the Unholy's head rolls to her feet. Her red eyes turn to him as he stands to his full height, again, his bored eyes turning towards her. There's a feral grin on his lips in an instance, one of his soiled hand lifting up to shag his sweaty hair.

"Che? Izumo-chan, s'that really you?" She can hear his chuckle; almost manic. But manic was normal when the sky is red and the moon is always full and the streets are quiet. Manic is the least of anyone's problem when the rivers are blood and bodies hang off of skyscrapers and trees like Christmas ornaments. "'Course it is; how'd _you_ make it out alive from there, huh? Don't answer that. I don't think I can even care."

The Unholy's long forgotten head is crushed under the soles of her boot. "Compose yourself, Renzou."

"Composure's the last thing we should worry about, sweetheart."

A cold breeze assaults them. It ruffles Renzou's shaggy hair, strands of black hair falling over darker eyes. Izumo peels her eyes away from him and watches as the streets continue to be dead; not a soul is visible for miles and miles away and she swears the crows sitting on the electrical wires are cawing their location to each other, like an echo.

Izumo looks back towards Renzou. He is wiping his staff clean on the Unholy's suit, a frown marred on his lips and Izumo remembers a time where he did everything but. Nineteen days and the unbreakable has broken.

"We need to move," she murmurs, walking closer. The slosh of the brain matter and blood, under her boots against the concrete, is like music; a low drumming of a death march.

She passes him and she doesn't look over her shoulder to see if he follows; she is more than sure of it.

"And exactly where?" he asks in his low drawl.

She doesn't reply for a while. She doesn't think she knows where they'll go; is there anywhere safe, anymore? Is there anyone alive? Is staying alive worth the struggle? "Anywhere, I suppose."

They walk in a steady silence; Izumo is almost haunted and fascinated by it. All these little things she remembers of Renzou are gone; he is dead and gone and this person walking next to her, towering over her by a full head and a half, is but an imposter with his skin. It is close to fascinating, watching such a brutal change in someone.

They walk silently, almost hovering above the ground to prevent any sort of disruption to the ever still night. Izumo's eyes are everywhere; dark corners aren't to be trusted. They walk with mere inches in between them; so close, yet so far and the little space that floats between them is filled with voices—like Renzou's flirting and sarcasm.

Ironic, Izumo says to herself as they climb a hill, because his lips are barely moving.

Above the hill, they watch as the sun never rises.

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!1


	2. Chapter 2

**dead end countdown**

"That is disgusting."

Izumo tilts her head away, but her eyes are glued on the gruesome scene. She is already taking cautious steps back, without her mind registering it. She assumes it is human nature, by now; natural instincts to move away as silently as possible when there is more than just her in the streets.

Renzou stands rooted to the spot he stood on and Izumo's dark red eyes turn to him for a mere second.

Is he suicidal, she wonders, but does not voice a thing out.

Across from them, more to the left than anything else, an Unholy devours a dead body. From where they stand, they can hear the sloshing of blood, the crunch of bones and the slurp of muscles. Izumo's stomach churns and she almost—almost—vomits. But she holds it in, keeps her apathetic expression no matter how much she is screaming inside.

"Renzou," she whispers, wishing to disappear before they captured the Unholy's attention.

He doesn't move, save for his grip on his staff growing tighter.

So much has changed, Izumo takes note; though from their unit, she had been the least to interact with them, she remembers all the footnotes she took of her teammates. And Renzou—Renzou was the last of them to ever be dark and angry.

"Renzou," she whispers again, her small hands curling at her sides. "Let's _go_."

Where they would go, she doesn't know—everything has mixed into one thing and for all she knew, she still stood on the death grounds, on the rubbles, that buried her unit. At this, Izumo's jaw grows tense. The unit… Was dead, wasn't it?

She and Renzou were the only survivors?

And out of what, pure luck?

It had taken Izumo seven days of those nineteen to heal her wounds, and even as she walks, cool, calm and collected, she feels her hipbones grind against each other; if she falls or sits, she has to stand as slowly as possible and she has to rotate her hips for the bone to click back into place… She was _broken_.

"Renzou," she hisses, her nerves awakening with fresh adrenaline. She can hear her voice crack and she hates it. "Renzou, let's _go_."

He finally turns towards her and his dark eyes are shadowed by his forelocks, skin around them periwinkle and almost swollen. He looks manic, she decides, her chest heaving as she breathes in erratically. She locks her eyes with his, demanding to decipher what is going on inside his head; his lips are turning into a crooked grin—slowly and lazily.

"Let's go," she repeats.

She ignores the relief that overtakes her when he turns his back on the horrific scene. They take a couple of steps forwards, away from the Unholy. The world is dead and the sky is still red; blood is what they breathe and there is no hope. Not with the wicked walking among them.

Something shifts; pebbles roll over on the ground, dead leaves break into dust, twigs split in two. And the Unholy lifts its head up.

Izumo pauses, burgundy eyes growing wide; she is frozen, as it abandons its meal and begins to run towards them, blood and flesh dripping from its mouth, fingertips crimson red. She needs to move, she decides, she needs to find a means to attack, she knows. But she has no gun—she has nothing to defend herself with, not since the last time she had to fight off a heard of Unholy long before she found Renzou.

"Che," Renzou grunts next to her, "You're gonna have to move, Izumo-chan, if you aren't going to fight back."

Izumo stares, curls into herself and stares as Renzou swings his staff; a swift movement with enough force, it almost looks graceful. The Unholy's head rolls off, thick, revolting blood spluttering from the stump on its neck, splattering them both. It is as cold to the touch as she has always imagined it and Izumo gasps for air, body growing stiff as she stumbles back.

Renzou is angry as he digs the end of his staff against the ground.

It is silent and Izumo knows… She knows he is giving her time to recollect herself. And she also knows she hates him for it.

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!2


	3. Chapter 3

**dead end countdown**

She slides down to the ground, eyes rolling back as her taste buds revel in the taste of pastry.

Her stomach growls and she is feeling selfish, stuffing more than her mouth can handle. She groans, softly, breathing hard and drowning in the feeling of chewing, in the feeling of a headache filled with satisfaction rolling inside her head, rattling her brain.

Izumo gasps for air as she swallows, reaching over and opening another package and stuffing a handful of crackers into her mouth.

Along the way they found a supermarket. Its windows were cracked and broken, with jagged edges making it a difficult attempt to get inside. Surprisingly, there had been no Unholy and she and Renzou had been quick to split up and find anything they could eat and anything they could use to their advantage.

She is not ashamed to say that since then, she's been devouring any food she could find.

Izumo doesn't remember when the last time she ate was; before right then, anything that made its way into her stomach came back up her throat. And this includes stomach acid that burns her throat and leaves a taste like bitter anger in her mouth.

She sighs, lifting another pack and staring at it.

She immediately feels everything she'd greedily ate rise up her throat and Izumo only gets time to turn to the side before her body is convulsing and bile is splattering the grimy ground. She gasps and she tries to keep her volume down, swiping the back of her hand against her mouth.

Standing up proves difficult with her shaky limbs, and as she wobbles her way down the empty aisles, she tries to look for a water bottle to wash her mouth. Her eyes are half closed and she has never felt so weak; so alone; so… distant and angry with the world.

But there is no world to be angry at.

And she supposes that's why she is angry.

Because everyone is gone—everyone, everything…

Izumo doesn't understand how many times she has to say this to herself before the cold, harsh truth settles into her brain. It is only she and Renzou now. And a world filled with Unholy; and if they keep themselves alive, what would the reason be?

She drops to her knees and pretends she is not sobbing; the wetness at the corner of her eyes is not tears.

And there's this side of her that wishes to scream; loud and raw. But that would do no good, other than certain death.

And she could not do that to herself.

She could not do that to Renzou, wherever he is at, in the empty supermarket.

Renzou…

She tries to focus on him, to keep herself from drowning in her self-pity and her weakness.

Renzou, he lost more than she did; with his brothers and his father… Bon and Koneko…

Oh, _Paku_.

The corner of her lips twitch with sadness.

Paku and Shiemi… Rin… Yukio and Shura… God… Everyone is _gone_.

"Fwuah," Renzou appears, dragging his staff behind him; Izumo watches as he approaches her, trying to compose herself but feeling drained of any energy to do so. "Lookie 'ere…"

He thrusts a box of hair dye in her face.

"Kin'a morbid if I dye my hair pink, 'gain, huh?" He crouches down in front of her, throwing the box over his shoulder without much care. "I think I'll keep it dark, eh? Fits the mood—oi, you cryin', Izumo-chan?"

She looks away, raising an arm to rub her eyes. "Absolutely not."

"S'okay," Renzou goes on, his voice low and soft with hard edges. "I won't tell anyone that you were cryin'."

Izumo turned towards him, brow furrowed with curiosity at how sane Renzou actually was. "I am not crying, Renzou. Back off, my personal space is being threatened."

"D'aw, you still on that, Izumo-chan?" He leans forwards, his dark eyes glint with something like lunacy, the periwinkle surrounding his eyes hard and making him look so tired. "In this world, there ain't no personal space, doll."

She looks away, lips curling in a sneer. But she says nothing and stands; she ignores how he watches her from his crouched position, and concentrates on turning away, violet hair whipping at the air.

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!3


	4. Chapter 4

To Chloe and Sara who are going to hate me when I get through the next few chapters. (:

**dead end countdown**

Something happens on the twenty-fifth day.

The sky is a watermelon pink and it is raining without actual rain; the world is at its loudest, with thunder and lightning flashing, illuminating the darkness even as Izumo closes her eyes. They have walked for miles, making pit stops and hiding and fighting. Renzou wears blood like second skin; his staff is grimy and soiled, no longer the elegant gold that shone as he carried it with what little pride Renzou allowed himself to wield.

Izumo cannot properly call where they are by any name; with how broken the world is, everything blends in as one. This location bears many houses, with a toppled one in every few intervals. Cars still lie where owners had once parked them; roof crushed inwards and windows shattered.

It is quieter, here.

Renzou strolls a few steps behind her, dragging his staff and staring at everything with minor interest. His eyes are rimmed with periwinkle; each day, the bags grow darker—each day, the crazed look in his eyes grows stronger. And Izumo watches with minor fascination as he slowly begins to lose himself and wonders if she's destined for the same route, or if she's been on it from the start.

"We should rest," she comments, pausing in the middle of the street.

The wind is harsh, whipping her violet hair back and forcing it to surround her like a strait jacket. Her eyes narrow, protectively, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed.

Renzou pauses at her side, lifting a hand to shadow his eyes as he looks around. "Whew," he whistles, "Which house d'you want, Izumo-chan? I like that blue one over there; nice shade, hm? 'minds me of the good ole' days back in trainin', eh?"

She swallows, but does not comment; rather, she begins to slowly walk towards the house Renzou picked, her steps even and her stride prideful. She does not understand why she carries herself in such a manner—who is there to show her pride to? Who is there to look down on?

Izumo pauses as she hears movement; a dumpster, she guesses.

The Unholy.

She turns and spares a glance towards Renzou, their eyes locking in agreement. She dismisses the sloppy grin on his lips and sets into a quick jog down the streets. She hears him a step behind her and she closes her eyes and sighs. At least he didn't ignore her, this time.

They pause on the front door, her hand hovering over the silver knob; their eyes lock, again. Izumo's breathing hitches as she catches Renzou's look of utter concentration; he looks painfully crazed. Like a mad survivor doing all in his capabilities to survive—and for what? She wonders what Renzou fights for; what he shows such strength for when he was once such a slacker, always falling behind simply because he didn't want to catch up.

His eyes are dark, his lips contorted into a sharp frown; his hair falls over his eyes and he doesn't really look like Renzou, anymore. This—this couldn't be Renzou.

He nods, shifting to prepare his staff for an attack.

Izumo swallows, furrowing her brow and shaking her thoughts away. Her hand closes around the knob and ever so slowly, she turns it. It is unlocked, but Izumo isn't at all surprised; she pushes the door open, slow and steady, the darkness that lives within comes into view and her eyes grow wide as if the wider they got, the clearer her vision would be.

She takes hesitant steps inside. Behind her, Renzou follows like a shadow, closing the door behind them.

This feels wrong, she tells herself, breaking an entry to a home. It feels so wrong—but why, she hisses to herself. Why, why, why—there was no one to be offended! No one was left!

"It'll grow dark soon," she tells him, swatting some of her hair out of her face. "The Unholy are more active during the night. We should stay here."

Renzou is quiet.

The house is a wreck. The couches are toppled over, the TV's screen cracked and shattered. In the kitchen, pots and pans and kettles litter the ground and the cupboards are wide open; some of the wooden doors are hanging by a nail and glass cups and mugs lay broken on the counters and on the floor.

Izumo does not look at the portraits hanging on the wall.

"C'mon," Renzou drawls, swinging his staff to rest on his shoulder. "This place is a lil' too morbid for my taste. We can find some rooms upstairs or some'in'—oh, Izumo-chan! We can share a _bed_!"

She doesn't reply and settles into following him. The stairs creak and with every groan of the abused wood, she jumps and she grits her teeth in annoyance with herself. Something rustles and, without thinking, she reaches and snatches the material of Renzou's shirt, clenching it tight and pulling him close.

"What was that," she hisses, her lips pursing in anger and concentration.

Renzou pulls away from her, then, lifting his hand up and telling her to wait where she stood. Izumo does not comment but she feels her insides begin to prickle—like a million ants marching up and down her system with fear and anxiety. Her eyes are wide, watching as he cautiously reaches the second floor landing, twirling his staff in his hands as he looks around for what made such a noise in an abandoned house.

When he is out of sight, Izumo feels like her chest is going to collapse and _fuck_ how she hates herself for feeling so weak and inferior to such a feeling like fear and hopelessness. How the mighty fall, she tells herself; a warrior princess that killed her mission targets without batting an eyelash is now reduced to a pitiful insect, cowering and allowing her unit's dead last to do all the saving.

"Aaaaaack!"

Izumo slaps her hands to her mouth to keep her scream down her throat as she hears Renzou shout. She sinks down, her back sliding against the wall, as she closes her eyes shut and tries to not picture a group of Unholy devouring him—the only other person alive; her only hope… But then she freezes as she hears Renzou say with a hint of disbelief:

"Shiemi-chan…?"

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!4


	5. Chapter 5

To Rhea. Who is probably not in this fandom, but is the reason as to why I'm singing Striped Sweater (omgspongebob) right now.

**dead end countdown**

The world stops for exactly fifteen seconds.

Izumo tries to breathe, but it comes out as a mangled gasp—something like a sob and a cry of relief, horror, shock and everything else. She does not know if she can sink to the ground any further, but her body continues to try; going soft and dead weight, half lying and half sitting up. Her heart is pounding against her chest, hands shaking and focus completely gone.

"Sh-Shiemi-chan, s'that really…You…?"

And after those fifteen seconds are over, Izumo tries to gather the tiny pieces of herself, putting herself back together like a puzzle and not at all minding if some of the pieces didn't fit. She crawls up the stairs and stumbles her way through the landing, red-violet eyes wide and mouth ajar. She stops just as she catches Renzou crouched down in front of Shiemi.

It _is_ Shiemi.

It is _her_—she's alive. She's sitting _right there_, curled into herself, dirty and soiled with blood, jagged and jaded and broken but she is alive and she's _there_.

Izumo drops to the ground, her hand reaching up to press her palm against her chest. She swears her heart is going to escape from her body, with the way its pounding. But she only minds it for a second before she's crawling towards them, wanting to reach for Shiemi and run her fingers through her white-blond hair, see those obnoxiously innocent green eyes and—

"Wait," Renzou says, razor sharp.

His hand goes up, grabbing her smaller one and bringing it down to the ground, his body blocking her from Shiemi.

"She ain't respondin'," he drawls, and Izumo realizes he's holding his staff with the intentions to attack, if he needs to.

She swallows, frantic eyes turning from him to Shiemi and back and back and back and she swallows again, parting her lips. "It's Shiemi, Renzou… It's _her_."

"Call 'er name, then."

So she does.

It's soft and as stern as she can remember to be. Her surroundings warp and she's suddenly back at the base, crouched on the cold ground, holding herself upright even as she bleeds herself half-dead. She's calling out, but no one is around—out on a job, exorcism and the like. And she's half-sobbing, now, throwing away the cold warrior princess act and wanting to be helped because she cannot feel her legs and suddenly Shiemi is next to her, small hands soft and curing.

And suddenly the vision shatters and she's back in a monochrome world with nothing but red blood and death and Shiemi is slumped on the floor in front of her with Renzou as a body-shield in between them.

"Shiemi, answer me," she says, voice cracking. In the back of her mind she's angry, in the back of her mind her calculative, cold side howled to be released because Izumo does not crack—she does not crack in the presence of other, so why was she cracking now? She squares her shoulders, lips curling. "Answer me, Moriyama, or you will be taken down."

Empty words and lost threats but Izumo lies to herself and curls her hands into fists.

Renzou turns to her, dark eyes tired and crazed, messy dark hair falling over his eyes and no shit-eating grin in sight and Izumo finds herself actually missing it—missing him cooing at her from afar, missing him be a total moron because Renzou being a total moron insinuates Bon would be around, glaring at her as she spares his friend a second glance even as she pretends she does not. And a Bon insinuates a Konekomaru smiling at her with a smile that knew so much for a small creature. And a Konekomaru insinuates a Rin keeping them all together.

But Renzou does not smile and everyone is gone.

Shiemi slowly begins to lift her head and her face is splattered with blood that is not hers—red blood, black blood, blood like acid, like poison. Her eyes are puffy and red and green, long lashes sticking together even as she tries to blink. She opens her chapped, bloody lips, tries to smile. But both attempts backfire on her.

They are silent until she tries again and this time she croaks out a petty, sobbing, "Iz—mo-chan…"

And it is enough. Enough for Renzou to drop his hand and move aside and enough for Izumo to shove past him, if only to feel his skin against hers as she drops herself atop her old friend and throws all hazard of looking petty to the wind because Shiemi is alive and she is not alone—_they_ are not alone and the salt of her tears spilling from her eyes and sneaking into her mouth taste like hope.

"I—I—you're… Alive," Shiemi whispers and her voice is cracked with days and weeks and months of going without use—hoarse from screaming without having anyone but the Unholy to hear her.

Shiemi was not built to survive an apocalypse, yet here she is defying all laws and cracking at the seams, being held together by pure will power. And even then, that is sure to be gone as the days continue to go on. Izumo pulls away and slumps down next to her, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the smooth surface of the wall.

And then there are three, she supposes.

She opens her eyes and looks around the small room, bodies of Unholy are on the ground—one, two—black blood pooling around them and seeping into Renzou's dark pants; but he does not seem to mind, not that Izumo blames him. Who has time to be vain in a world that's so black, right?

"How…?"

Shiemi looks around with wild eyes, overgrown blond forelocks entangling with her lashes and curling to her eyes in an unpleasant manner. "I—I—"

She lifts her hands up and they are bloody, thick pieces of skin and even meet coating her like gloves. "Their skins—all of them—they… Are rotten. Killing them is easy even without weapons." She clears her throat. "It's all a matter of being quick and not getting bitten."

Izumo silently takes the girl's hands and cleans them, swatting the clumps of thick blood and white-blue skin away. The splatter as it hit the walls was almost soothing. But only almost.

Renzou sighs, then, shifting in his crouch and dropping down to the ground. "S'now what?"

There is another question burning at his throat and Izumo catches it; her eyes flash and she glares at him, short eyebrows furrowed with a warning. He stares at her with a blank face, almost unperturbed and challenging.

"Sleep," she answers, her eyes never breaking from his. "I have not slept… For days. I wish to rest."

"Rest is for the weary," he answers.

"I am."

He smiles, slowly, and it almost looks lecherous.

Shiemi takes their hands, then. And she brings them to her chest, close to herself, reassuringly. And they drop everything, there; Izumo closes her eyes and dozes off.

And then there are three echoes in her mind.

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!5


End file.
